Apocalypse, Day 1
by Onari
Summary: Post Lucifer Rising. During the first hours of the end of the world, Sam can only wish that everything was a figment of his imagination. Except for Dean, who has come and got him, and is bent on proving he isn’t going anywhere. Oneshot


**Summary: **Post Lucifer Rising. During the first hours of the end of the world, Sam can only wish that everything was a figment of his imagination. Except for Dean, who has come and got him, and is bent on proving he isn't going anywhere. Angst and a bit of hut/comfort for everyone. One-shot – COMPLETE

**A/N:** So my internet connection died and here I am, sitting on the stairs of the Town Hall to get some wi-fi…Don't ask :S. Logistics apart…I hope you like it!! And thanks to gaelicspirit, who graciously revised the story. You are the best and you know it ;)

**Apocalypse, Day 1**

The light was blinding white, hot and so intense that everything else seemed to fade around them. Lucifer was coming; Sam could sense it. Every cell of his body stirred and vibrated sickeningly in some sort of twisted, happy dance that said _Welcome, master_.

He knew that the reaction came from the leftovers of the blood and felt sick and lightheaded at the feeling of that double-sided blade he had wanted to use to make things right turning against him inside his veins. Nausea crept up his throat and Sam swayed on his feet, although maybe it was the ground crumbling, in every possible sense of the word. His body pulsed with such intensity that he thought he may explode.

He thought…He thought exploding may not be a bad idea, after all.

If he were honest, Sam hadn't expected to make it out alive and, after Dean had forsaken him, he didn't think he even wanted to. The funny thing was that he had been okay with dying with Lilith, if that meant stopping the Armageddon. He had been okay with disappearing forever if it meant Dean was safe. And as much as it hurt that his brother hated him, he could still hope that maybe, just maybe, Dean would one day remember him as he once had been.

However, he was alive. He had screwed up. And the world _was_ ending.

And Dean?

Dean had come for him. Dean had found him. And Dean definitely wasn't safe, since he was hanging on to him for dear life, trying to reach him through the static in his ears. Why, Sam wasn't sure. If Dean was half the hunter Sam knew he was, he should kill him right now instead of keep him from joining the light. Sam wasn't really scared anymore, since that would entail having some sense of self left; all he could think of was Ruby's voice and Azazel's smirk, chanting _You had it in you_ and _Boy King._

_Let me fix it…Dean, let me fix it. _

He didn't remember clearly how his brother dragged him out of the church; it may have been by sheer force because he was vaguely aware that he was thrashing against him. Dean's voice sounded urgent, but his words were distant, muffled and intermittent as if they were nothing but a figment of Sam's imagination. Sam wished they were, wished _please_, just let him be at the panic room, trashing feverishly on a thin cot instead of having knocked his long-life friend out, beat his brother, followed Ruby and laid a red carpet for the King of all Demons.

_No…No, no no no…_

Sam must have been chanting his denial out loud. Somewhere, in the recesses of his mind he thought he heard himself repeating it as everything fell apart on them. Literally. The earth cracked, and the centuries-old stone walls collapsed. The buzz of anticipation fluttering deep in Sam's stomach made him want to scream, to rip his belly open and pull it out. He might have screamed after all, judging by the rawness of his throat. Someone was pushing him and his muscles protested the abuse. Balance had become nothing but a word.

He thought he could hear music. Evil and dark; primal and so, _so_ beautiful.

_Turn it off…Please, turn it off._

"Sammy, come on! We have to get out of here!"

_Dean…_

Yeah, moving sounded like a good idea. But if it was really happening, he needed to stay. If it was all going to burn, he had to be the first to go in flames.

"Sam, move! Snap out of it, dammit! MOVE!"

But not Dean. Never Dean. His hand tightened in his brother's jacket, knowing instinctively that Dean should _not_ be engulfed by the light. Dean's hand covered his wrist, squeezed, then pulled for all he was worth.

_Bye master. I know I'll see you soon enough._

**oooooooooooOooooooooooo**

The first thing Sam remembered was coming to at a motel bathroom he had no clear recollection of how he had gotten to. He was bent over the toilet, dry-heaving, and he hadn't shaken so hard in his life. Sorting out the blurry chaos of his brain wasn't gradual; it rather felt as if he'd woke up after a particularly painful heave and then it all came back with a rush and he groaned and clenched the porcelain bowl tighter to hold himself straight and grounded to reality. His whole body ached in a steady rhythm and his head pounded so hard he couldn't even open his eyes. The fluorescent light wasn't helping; too white on the tiles, as if he had never left the church and the white emptiness had reached him instead.

_Is this Hell?_

Even his hearing seemed muffled, but little by little sound began to filter in, and _thank God_, there was no music. Only a voice somewhere in the next room that he recognized right away.

"Yeah…I don't know… I _don't_ know, Bobby!" Dean sounded furious and Sam blinked several times to clear his vision.

_Not Hell then._

"Yeah, it was him... That fucking piece of shit, I shouldn't have trusted... Yeah… Yeah, he's here… No, I got him… Bobby, I _know_, okay? Don't-" A pause then, and Sam realized he wasn't even breathing as he listened, "Sorry… Yes, don't worry. I got to go now, just… Yeah, will do… You too, man."

He heard Dean hang up and then listened to the sound of steps approaching, until they stopped somewhere close and, at the same time, so far away. Sam didn't lift his head; he didn't need to in order to picture Dean standing at the doorstep, arms crossed and critical gaze over him. Maybe a gun in hand, who knew? He didn't look up, because shame had become a solid and sharp weight over his chest and it was all he could to get some air.

"Feelin' better?"

Sam blinked, shocked by the lack of hatred in Dean's voice. His brother sounded worn out, but other than that there was only worry, thick and achingly familiar, lacing his tone. And just like that, Sam felt his eyes blur, burn, and he had to shut them tight.

"Sammy?"

A wet laugh escaped Sam's throat at the use of his nickname and he shook his head, still refusing to look a Dean. The movement made his awareness swim again and his stomach lurched, although he had nothing left inside. Queasy, he pillowed his forehead on his arm and tried to disappear into the little refuge of warmth.

"If you're going to do it, do it now," he said roughly.

His own voice sounded foreign to his ears, empty as if his ribcage was merely a metal shell.

"Do what?" Dean asked

Sam set his jaw and breathed deeply through his nose. It took all he had to raise his gaze and meet Dean's without flinching, but the hardest part was feeling the eye contact break through the walls he had erected to protect himself.

For months, his cocoon of coldness had resisted all attacks, including his brother showing up at his door step, or his confessions about Hell. Even when he had seen Dean on a hospital bed, broken and ready to give up. It had been what Sam had to do, what Dean had always done: be the strong one when the other was down. But he wasn't good at it, not at all. He hadn't been able to balance everything and instead of a rock, he had had to become an iceberg. Dean would never know how his heart had broken for him, one big chunk as a time, as they grew further and further apart. Sometimes it had been just too much..

Like all the times Dean had looked at him as if John had been right.

So Sam had disengaged his heart. He had realized he was changing, He'd _had_ to in order to find Lilith. God, he had been so sure and so wrong at the same time that his mind was still reeling. Sam felt tears coming to his eyes and blinked them back, disgusted at himself. This was his doing; he didn't deserve the relief or crying.

_You had it in you the whole time…_

He focused on Dean ready to face whatever it was that he had in store for him. As he had guessed, his brother was at the doorstep, arms crossed and expression unreadable. No gun, though.

"Kill me," Sam answered his previous question. Maybe Dean would try to choke him, wouldn't that be poetic? "I won't fight you. Just kill me."

Dean seemed to freeze for the longest of seconds, staring at Sam as if he had grown a second head. Worse than that, as if he didn't know him at all. It was the same way he had looked at him at the motel, when he had finally voiced it: Sam was a monster. Had Dean always known? Then how could _he_ have taken so long to realize it?

After a beat, Dean's eyes went cold and his expression hardened. Sam thought that was it and brazed himself for any sort of blow, but the next thing Dean did was going back to the room without a single glance back. Confused, Sam scrambled to his feet and crashed against the wall when his head swam. He didn't remember feeling this weak in all his life and he swallowed convulsively to clear his vision while rubbed at his bruised shoulder. Slowly, he made his way our of the bathroom, vaguely noting the dull motel room they've landed and wondering if he should pay more attention to it, since it may be the last place he ever saw.

Dean was at one corner, harshly emptying his duffle and throwing items on the bed closest to the door. Sam didn't know what he was looking for and doubted Dean himself did. He only registered the fury in his brother's stance and movements, the ferocious snarl on his lips: at last, Dean was enraged and Sam welcomed it with a bittersweet pain in the pit of his stomach. He advanced towards him, shaking off the slight dizziness that accompanied him. Surprisingly, he wasn't scared; no matter what, he would never be scared of Dean.

"Dean?"

The speed and strength at which Dean lunged towards him and slammed him against the wall had his head spinning. His whole body rattled with the impact and air left his lungs with a whoosh.

"You stupid and selfish SON OF A BITCH!" Dean yelled.

Sam let out a grunt and his hands found Dean's wrists instinctively, although he didn't try to pry them off him. Holding on was enough. It felt like years since the last time he had held Dean and if that was the last thing he felt, he would go gladly with the sensation imprinted in his worthless soul.

"Look at me! Sam, open your goddammed eyes!"

The younger obeyed and blinked his eyes open, to find himself inches from Dean's face. The older Winchester was livid, eyes ablaze and face taut.

"How _dare_ you?" Dean spat, "After all we've been through, you don't get to bail on me!"

"Dean-" Sam tried to placate him.

"What have I done to make you think I could kill you? What part of _I'd rather die_ do you not fucking understand?"

"You said I was a monster, a blood-sucker…" Sam stammered, "You said I was a vampire and that the next time you saw me you'd kill me!"

Dean paled even more and his hands loosened on Sam's arms. He staggered back and let go of him altogether. Immediately, Sam sagged without his support, but his eyes never left Dean, who was shaking his head at him in desolated confusion.

"What?" Dean whispered.

The catch on his brother's voice got to Sam more than his previous fury had and he stared at his big brother in defensive bewilderment.

"Don't do that, Dean." Sam growled, "Don't you deny it now, because I swear..."

"Sammy, when did I say that?"

"Y-you said it…on the phone." Sam cried, "You left a message saying I wasn't your brother anymore!"

Anger was coming out strong now. How could Dean not remember the words that had hurt him so bad? He was willing to admit that his brother had been right. He was ready to pay for what he had done. But did Dean have to lie to him on top of it? Didn't he deserve at least some measure of respect?

"No, I didn't." The older insisted with a frown, "Yes, I left a message, but I was _apologizing_."

Sam frowned back at him, feeling a flicker of doubt in his gut that made him nauseous all over again.

"No," Sam muttered, stubbornly, "I heard it… I-"

Sam trailed off and felt his heart stuttering tragically inside his lungs. He couldn't deal with this now; there were only so many things he could take at the same time. Dean had to be lying. Perhaps he had simply changed his mind about him; that was certainly more than he could hope. But he _had_ heard the message and it had been the last time he had allowed himself to second-guess his course of action. After that, he had lost all hope to make it out of that church and have his life back in any way that mattered.

"No," Sam repeated.

Sam looked around, located his jacket on the second bed and marched to it. His cell phone was inside his pocket and he retrieved it with shaking hands. His vision was starting to tunnel and his legs felt funny, but he managed to press the buttons and get to his voicemail, holding his breath.

"_Hey, it's me, uh- Look, I'll just get right to it. I'm still pissed, and I owe you a serious beat down, but...I shouldn't have said what I said. I'm not Dad. We're brothers, you know, and no matter how bad it gets, that doesn't change..."_

Sam's heart stopped dead, his legs buckled and he dropped down on the edge of the bed. He couldn't even blink again until the message ended and by then tears were pooling on his eyes and started to run freely down his cheeks, totally out of his control.

"Oh, God." He whispered, almost to himself, "I heard you calling in the church… I heard you b-but I..."

But he had thought Dean wasn't his brother anymore. He had thought he had come for him just as he had promised on the phone and he had _agreed_ with him. Sam had thought that it would be an honor dying at the hands of Dean. Lilith head was to be his parting present, something to remember him by. But he had been wrong, from the very beginning. The person he was and the goals he was after, all, all wrong.

The cell phone fell from his grasp and clacked against the floor, but Sam barely heard it over his ragged attempts to pull in some oxygen.

_Jesus, what have I done?_

Before he could react, he felt the sobs catching in his throat, through the numbness of shock and the power of denial, and buried his face in his hands in a futile, last attempt to control them, but they came out hard and uncontrollably through the cracks. Every intake felt like breathing needles and the pain was sharp, inescapable and final, because everybody, _everybody_, he had ever loved had died—even Dean—and now everybody he knew, could get to know, would have met at some point or even those he would never hear nothing of were going to _burn_. Everything, everyone, would go in flames in front of his eyes.

For him.

Because of him.

Practically by his hand.

"Sammy."

He sensed his brother coming closer and his crying intensified. He needed Dean to get as far away from him as possible, _right the fuck now_. Sam was nothing, but a destroying force that shouldn't have been born at all. Every single decision he had taken as an adult had lead to death. Disobeying his father had killed Jess, obeying him had killed John; not killing Jake had killed Sam himself, not listening to Ruby had killed Dean and listening to her had brought Lucifer on them. Someone had to fix what he had done and that would be Dean. It was always Dean. It _had_ to be Dean.

_How could I believe _her_? How could I trust _her_?_

"Shhh, it's alright."

Dean's hand brushed his hair and run to the back of his neck, warm and steady. Sam shivered under the cautious touch, shook his head and tried to back away.

"Whoa, hey." Dean easily stilled him, without breaking the contact. "It's alright now."

Sam shook even harder. It wasn't alright. As a matter of fact, it was the furthest thing possible from _alright_. Suddenly Sam back at the church, back at the motel room and Cold Oak and every other place he could have chosen differently but didn't. Ruby's voice teased him relentlessly and his whole system went into overload.

It felt like falling, he _was _falling in every sense a man could fall. Instinct had him reaching out; he gripped his brother's shirt blindly and pulled him in, pressing his face to Dean's chest as hard as he could. He felt Dean's stomach dip and then Dean's hands slowly moved, flexed coming around Sam's shoulders as if surprised by the ferocity of the younger's grip..It felt like forever since Dean had hugged him, probably since he had returned from Hell, although it had been different back then. That first night had been relief, while this time it was the pure, naked release of a little boy falling apart in his hero's arms. Dean didn't say anything at first, just massaged his brother's shoulders while he let him cry against him, but his silence seemed to break Sam even worse.

"I'm sorry, Dean." He sobbed, "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry…"

"I know." Dean whispered over his head. "Just calm down now, yeah? It's going to be okay."

It felt good, Dean taking over. Even if his words were empty reassurances, their sound was like magic. They would drown the music, Sam said to himself, they would melt the ice. Sam had to believe _him_; he had to choose _him_ this time. At that point, Dean was the only reason why he didn't point a gun to his own head.

"We'll fix it, Sam. I promise."

Sam buried himself deeper into his brother's warmth and shamefully let his tears soak the fabric of Dean's shirt. So, that was what he had come down to. Sam Winchester, the hardened hunter who needed no one… Except for a lying demon that had made a boy-toy of him, of course. He laughed against Dean, dangerously close to hysterics, and felt the older Winchester squeeze his shoulders softly as if he sensed how close Sam was from the edge. It was Dean's way to tell him that they weren't moving anytime soon, not until he was ready. He could almost hear Dean in his mind with some "Apocalypse be damned" and if it wasn't tragic, he would have laughed again.

_I missed you. I missed you. I missed you_, he wanted to scream at the top of his lungs.

God, he had missed him so bad that the ache had become a constant in his life, even after Dean had returned, to the point that he couldn't think around it most of the time. He had been compromised from the start.

"You weren't _there_." He whispered instead, his words wrapped in so many layers of regret and pain that not even Sam himself knew what he meant.

Apparently Dean understood, because he stiffened and Sam heard his heart faltering under his ear.

"I know," the older said and swallowed hard. "But I'm here now."

It was his own kind of _I'm sorry_. And it was enough. Because in Sam's eyes, Dean had done nothing wrong and he didn't need an apology. He just needed _him_ now, more than he ever had. Sam felt the sobs catching inside his throat again and knew that trying to repress them would be useless. The edge Dean tried to keep him from was long passed, and appeared as nothing as a blurry shadow in the distance. Sam _had_ fallen.

But Dean had caught him anyway.

It was a matter of pull themselves up now. And Sam was going to make it, damn fucking right. The incapacitating pain of loneliness was already receding and he could work with that.

He just needed a moment first.

**oooooooooooOooooooooooo**

Dean woke up, unsure of where he was. It wasn't an unfamiliar sensation and he had grown accustomed to it, so he repressed the first, instinctive reaction of alarm, breathed deep and tried to take stock of his surroundings. Nothing hurt, so no injuries, check. Silence, so no apparent immediate threat, check. Thin sheets, musty smell: motel room. Check.

Apocalypse, Day 1.

Dean closed his eyes and stretched his muscles under the covers as he struggled to wake up completely. It was still dark, so not many hours must have passed since he had managed to coax his brother to bed. Opening his eyes half-mast, Dean breathed out and rubbed his stomach unconsciously where it felt knotted and faintly cold after Sam had broken down in his arms the previous night. Dean couldn't blame him for it; he had felt like falling apart himself too and he would have, if his priority hadn't been to keep it together for Sam.

Control, he thought, that was the key. He had to keep a tight control of himself and his emotions, so that he could deal with Sam's now. It was better that way because if both of them lost it at the same time, there would be no fixing and Dean knew that too well. Both Heaven and Hell had proved to them that slipping meant doom, no matter if they tried to do the right thing, or believed they were following the right person.

Unfortunately, Sam had learned that lesson too, and in the most terrible way possible. Dean closed his eyes, moved still by the phantom sensation of his little brother coming apart at the seams, in a way he hadn't allowed himself to after Jessica, or John, or any other tragedy they had faced in their short life. At least, as far as Dean knew, since he couldn't imagine how Sam had been when he was… gone.

Quiet, Bobby had said, and it made sort of sense, although at the same time it didn't. Because Sam was never quiet, he was a born talker, but Dean had witnessed in first person how much Sam had changed in the last months. Withdrawn, distant, closed off. He couldn't pin down when exactly it had started, but he still felt guilty about it, as if it had been his fault for leaving Sam first, and not coming back _right_ in the second place.

All in all, it wasn't particularly strange then that he didn't hear Sam right away. However, when he looked across the other bed and found it empty, his heart lodged in his throat. Dean sat up on the bed at once, and the sheets slipped down his naked torso as the hand he had kept against the pit of his stomach clenched into a fist.

"Sam?" He called out.

The sharp pang of fear and anticipation when he couldn't find his brother was awfully familiar, just like that of waking up disoriented in another anonym place. So he forced himself to do the same thing, breathe deep, and take stock. Count to five...

A move to his left caught his attention and he turned around so fast his exhausted vision swam. Finally, he saw Sam on the floor. He was crammed in the corner next to Dean's bed, the closest to the door, with his arms around his knees and his gaze low.

"Hey," Dean breathed out, too relieved to do anything else.

The younger looked up at him wearily, eyes flickering over his right shoulder for a fleeting second, before looking down again. Dean frowned and tilted his head to look questioningly at Sam.

"You-" Dean started with a rough voice. He cleared his throat before continuing, "You alright?"

A silent, tight nod was his brother's only response. Dean's frown deepened, unsure of what was wrong other than, of course, _everything _in their lives, let alone the order of the universe. A glance at the clock on the bedside table said it was 4:36 AM and even as Dean started to move towards Sam, he felt the pull of bone-deep exhaustion weighting every single cell of his body and his throat knotted on its own accord. God help him, he had thought, _What now?_ And he was immediately ashamed of his own, betrayer subconscious. He was so damn _tired_ of the emotional hole their lives had been turned into that if he had been alone, he would had curled back to bed and simply cried until dawn broke.

_C'mon, Dean, you can do this._

Cautiously, the older brother extricated himself from the bed covers and padded the few feet that separated the edge of his bed from his brother's hunched form. Sam raised his eyes briefly when Dean towered over him and the older brother swallowed hard at the intensity of his brother's anguish, clear in the hazel depths. He had hoped that the worst was behind them already, that the previous nigh Sam had let it all out. Sure, why not? A guy can hope.

As if he didn't know better.

Slowly, Dean slid down the wall to the floor, sat next to Sam and looked ahead with his head against the wall. Despite the absence of any immediate danger, Dean's heart was still beating a little too fast and the misery that Sam radiated was making his stomach churn. The pull he felt towards his brother, though, was stronger than any discomfort and the need to ease Sam's suffering was the only real thing he felt able to grab onto. It was natural for Dean, definitely more natural than worrying about angels and demons and the end of the world.

"Nightmare?" He questioned gently.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sam shaking his head. Dean chewed on his bottom lip and glanced around the room, while he thought of something else to say. Sam's empty bed on the other side didn't seem particularly tangled up and the night was quiet, even calm. If something had woken Sam up, it should have woken him up too. So, although he had been sure he had left his brother exhausted enough to fall asleep a few hours before, now he was starting to wonder if he had slept at all. He rolled his shoulders and brushed his little brother's arm with his, eliciting a little gasp from Sam. The younger was trembling subtly under the T-shirt he was wearing. Little shivers that Dean wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been so close.

"Are you cold?"

Sam's Adam's apple bobbled and he shrugged, but his arms tightened around his knees unconsciously and Dean stared at him, wishing with all he had in him to understand what was going on inside his brother's head. He missed that connection between them, how even if they refused to share their feelings, the other understood them anyway. Although their bond had never disappeared completely, it had been strained beyond limits and without it, Dean felt lost. If Sam wasn't there to _know_ Dean, then no one would.

"Sam?"

The younger licked his lips and gazed at the opposite corner for a few seconds, with his jaw set. Then he met Dean's eyes ruefully and exhaled slowly, as if it took a lot from him to keep his own breathing under control. Dean narrowed his eyes on him when he realized that Sam was not only shivering, but also sweating, and his worry sky-rocketed.

"Sammy, what-?"

And then it hit him, the last time he had seen his brother like that.

"It's the blood, isn't it?" Dean whispered.

Sam's slightly blown pupils shone in shame. It was clear to Dean that he didn't want to admit it, but he didn't have to. He looked like hell, shaky, clammy... He looked like a damn junkie, as painful as it was to admit it. Dean schooled his features and breathed out, clapped Sam's knee and, ignoring his instinctive flinch, he squeezed it firmly in a useless attempt to quell the tremors that spoke of frustration. Of remorse. Sam stared at his brother's hand where it connected them both for a long time, as if the brotherly gesture escaped his flickering comprehension. It made Dean want to squeeze him even harder.

_Don't you doubt me, Sam. Don't you _ever _doubt me._

Soon, the younger seemed distracted again and clenched his teeth so hard that Dean's own jaw hurt in response. Something in Sam's demeanour was off, and it wasn't only the conflicted emotions over having Dean holding on to him. It wasn't even the signs of withdrawal.

"You're seeing something, aren't you?" Dean guessed in a low voice.

Sam guilty jump confirmed that he was right and Dean felt sick to his stomach when he remembered Sam's broken cries down in Bobby's panic room. All those conversations he had thought he was having had ended up with his little brother crying or yelling his throat out, while his big brother had to wait outside against all that made him _Dean_. It was devastating. The older still heard him crying every time he closed his eyes and felt the phantom tension in his muscles that begged to go to him and stop that torture. So yeah, hallucinations had been a symptom before, they just hadn't come so soon and Dean hadn't foreseen them either because he had expected them later or because he didn't think he was strong enough to go through the same thing again.

However, Dean thought, wasting Lilith had taken a lot from Sam and it had probably dried him out, or he would have finished Ruby himself. Even though he didn't know what Sam was seeing, he knew his brother well enough to know that it was all Sam could do to repress his fight or flight response. Judging by his position and his body language, Dean thought he also had an idea of where the hallucination was. The older gazed again into the emptiness of the corner exactly opposite to where they were seated, the one that would have been closer to his brother's bed, and squeezed Sam's knee again as the spoke in order to ground them both.

"What are you seeing, Sam?"

He sensed Sam stiffen up; he saw his chin tremble. Defensive and vulnerable. It made Dean stronger; surer, somehow. Because he didn't know how to treat Sam when he didn't let him in, but he did know how to step up when his little brother needed him.

"It's over there, right?" Dean tilted his head towards the dark corner. "What is it?"

Sam looked down, tears pooling in his eyes. Still, he refused to shed them. He had cried enough for ten lives a few hours ago, and now that he had some measure of control back, he was stubborn and strong enough to contain them. As a matter of fact, Sam was the strongest person Dean knew and he was proud of him. If he thought that he had brought that pain over himself, he wasn't going to cry for it, not while he had any strength left. Therefore, seeing him barely holding it together meant that it had to be bad.

"It's Ruby." Sam croaked without raising his head.

"Ruby." Dean repeated.

With a target to aim all his frustration and pain at, hot, blind rage surged through the older hunter, and he had to clench his teeth to keep it controlled. He hated Ruby, that lying, manipulative bitch, with a passion. She had played with Sam, used his little brother's feelings from the very beginning, two years ago when she got into their lives claiming the she could help Dean escape Hell. She had given him hope, and then she had crashed it. She had saved his life, and then turned it into a nightmare. Honestly? Even knowing what he knew now, Dean would have gladly gone to Hell one year earlier if that would have helped prevent all this, by not giving her the chance to get close to Sam.

"What's she doing?" He asked flatly, in order to avoid his fury to spill into his tone.

Sam seemed to pick on it, probably thought it was directed to him and he didn't answer, but pursed his lips and fixed his eyes on Dean's hand again, as if he was trying to reconcile the warmth of his brother's grip and the deadly coldness of his tone. Dean forced himself to relax, aware that Sam didn't need him flipping out on top of everything right now.

"Sammy?"

"She's not doing anything," Sam said miserably, "She's just there...looking at me and..."

Sam trailed off, licked his lips and rubbed a hand against his temples. His breath was getting shallower and when he tried to pull air it stuttered inside his lungs and a grunt escaped him. Dean could only stare at him helplessly as Sam bent forwards and fought to find the strength to pull in oxygen. Unconsciously, his free hand found his little brother's forearm and curled loosely around the trembling biceps, while Sam got hold of Dean's hand over his knee and squeezed hard.

_Yeah, Sammy. I'm here. I'm here and I'm not going anywhere._

"And what?" He pushed gently, when Sam seemed to recover a bit.

The younger murmured his answer, without opening his eyes.

"She's sliced her wrists and she's... Bleeding. Just bleeding while she looks at me."

_Ouch._

If Dean had thought that he couldn't hate Ruby more than the previous night, he had been wrong. Not only she had ruined his brother's life while she was around, now she had to come back and torture him too?

"But I know it's not real." Sam offered shakily. "She's not real," he repeated with a sad, self-derisive smile.

Of course, Dean knew it wasn't Ruby, as much as his desire to rip her apart didn't lessen. Sam was doing that to himself, his mind had conjured a poisoned oasis mirage in the first stages of the thirst and he punished himself with the sight of the creature that had deceived him and turned him into his worst fear. Also, the creature that had helped him carry on when he was lost, that had gave him purpose. The woman that maybe he had even loved in some way that had nothing to do with feelings, but with bare need.

The monster he had helped kill.

Dean swallowed around the lump in his throat. He didn't know how Sam felt about Ruby, because he hadn't asked. They never asked that kind of stuff and after all what had happened it had become a whole new level of taboo between them.

"Would you want her to be?" Dean asked in a low voice.

Sam's brow furrowed as he looked at Dean in confusion, but Dean just stared back, waiting for an answer. He couldn't think of a single reason why Sam would regret to have killed Ruby, other than precisely, the _thirst_. They hadn't had time to think how to deal with that and it was obvious now that it was a problem that wasn't going to vanish just like that. What Dean needed to know, what he feared to find out, was how willing Sam was to _stop_ drinking demon blood.

"W-what? No..." He shook his head, "No, I…" Sam gulped. "Dean, I'd rather die."

Dean closed his eyes with a silent _thank you _and shook his head immediately and with fierce certainty.

"No one's dying here, Sammy," he whispered.

It was going to be hard and it was going to hurt, but they couldn't afford losing hope now. If they didn't believe they could make it, and they were going to make it, they could as well eat their guns right now.

"Okay?" Dean pushed.

Sam bit his lip and just stared at him, eyes wide and young and broken, saying _sorry _and _I'm dying right now, _but Dean held his gaze sternly and deep inside, just as desperate.

_Please, little brother. Stay with me._

Sam looked down for a split second, muscles trembling under Dean's grip, and then the offending corner seemed to catch his attention, but the older Winchester gave him a slight shake to get his focus back to him.

"Hey, look at me." He ordered, breathing out only when Sam obeyed, "Okay?" He insisted on his previous question.

Sam blinked at him for a few agonizing seconds longer and finally he gave a slight nod, almost imperceptible.

"Yeah," he muttered, "Okay."

Dean didn't stop a relieved smile to blossom on his lips and he let Sam see it, eliciting a brief, exhausted eye roll from his little brother.

"You should try to get some rest." Dean suggested.

His brother looked like shit and probably lying down wouldn't help much, but it sure beat sitting on the hard, cold floor as a shivering mess. Sam, however, shook his head vehemently.

"No."

"Sam-"

"No," The younger repeated, eyeing his bed.

Dean followed his gaze and finally thought he understood. Ruby was by Sam's bed, as she must have been so often before. Probably, where she had been minutes before Dean had appeared unexpectedly at the doorstep when he had returned from the dead. The older repressed a shiver at the thought.

"Do you… Do you want to sleep in my bed?" Dean ventured.

It was an honest question, but it must have come out wrong, because the way Sam glared at him from under sweaty bangs spoke of annoyance despite his haggard looks. It warmed Dean a bit deep inside, this piece of his Sammy, and he couldn't help but adding, "I promise I won't tease you too much for it."

Sam snorted a laugh and leaned his head back against the wall. Dean's smile widened, and then died away as he mimicked his brother's posture. Sam hadn't totally let go of him yet, but switched his grip to Dean's sleeve, which he tugged at nervously. Dean let him, wishing it was did some good. Sam had never been clingy, but with all his defenses destroyed, his big brother had become his last line. Besides, in the last hours he seemed to have developed some kind of irrational fear that Dean would leave him, apparently by the time he had finally understood that he wasn't going to kill him. Even when Dean had convinced him to try to get some sleep, Sam had seemed unable to let him out of his sight until his eyes slipped closed.

"It's going to get bad, right?" Sam said breathily.

Dean felt his stomach drop. He wasn't sure of how much Sam remembered from the panic room once he had started losing it, but bad didn't begin to cover it. It was going to get worse than bad; it was going to get goddammed awful and Dean would gladly rip his own veins open and let Sam drink from them if that could help him.

"Yeah," Dean said in quiet honesty, then he looked at Sam, but the younger was blinking at the ceiling.

"We have to go to Bobby's," he mumbled. "I could be dangerous here."

"I'm not locking you up again." Dean refused.

"I don't want to hurt you, Dean." Sam said firmly, "I don't- I _can't_ keep hurting you…"

"You won't." Dean assured.

"How can you be so sure?"

"I just am."

"No. Don't do this." Sam gritted.

"Do what?"

"Don't forgive me so easily, don't... You should be mad at me!"

"Do you want me to be mad at you?"

"Yes! Because I don't deserve this!" Sam yelled, "Because I was an idiot and I lied to you and betrayed you and brought the damn apocalypse on Earth!"

Dean flinched internally at the naked rage in his brother's voice, and felt his own guilt building up in his gut. It wasn't a conversation to have in that moment, not when everything was so recent and most especially not when Sam was in that condition. Dean himself wasn't ready to talk about it, because hearing Sam charging so hard against himself was eating at his own barriers so fast that his head spun.

Sam was right, somehow, but he was also oh, so wrong. It hadn't been his fault, not like that. If Dean could have focused on what needed to be said, he'd tell Sam who had betrayed who. Who had followed a stranger's orders against his own gut; who hadn't _listened_. Who, when it had all come down and Sam had asked, begged him to go with him and simply _Trust me, please, just trust me_ had said _no_.

"Don't say that, Sam." Dean pleaded, with a light shake of his head.

"You can't deny it, Dean." Sam said stubbornly, "I started this."

"No," Dean croaked, "I did."

It wasn't Dean's usual chevalier attitude or his big brother instinct to shoulder everything to protect Sam. It was the plain truth, one that he hadn't planned to say, until the words had tumbled from his lips in a cracked voice that sounded foreign and detached even to his own ears. A flutter of panic seized his stomach when Sam dragged blood-shot eyes in his direction and looked through him as no one else could. Dean breathed in and forced himself to keep their eyes locked even if he felt naked under his brother's gaze. For the longest of seconds he couldn't speak, as if all his capacity to form words had been limited at the scared voice inside his head yelling _No, no, no._

"What?" Sam rasped.

Dean pulled away then, tried to rebuild his Sammy-proof wall to make up for the cracks in its very foundations since age four, but Hell images were flooding in as a destructive torrent and he shook under their vivid force. The heat of fire together with the sickening noise of cracking bones, sliced flesh and blood, blood everywhere, blood on _his _hands...

_Jesus, what have I done?_

What was he _doing_? He couldn't tell Sam! It had been bad enough when he had told him about the monster he had become down there and the way Sam had looked at him, compassionate, but somehow detached, as the "new Sam" had taken to look at him this last year, had broken him even worse. His little brother would not forgive him for this. His little brother _should not_ forgive him for this. And yet, looking into his eyes now, Dean realized that he couldn't keep it from Sam anymore.

He deserved to know.

"I broke the first seal," he said, for the first time aloud.

Sam's eyes widened fractionally, but he said nothing. The lack of reaction made Dean's heart pound even harder and his next words tumbled shakily from his lips.

"And it was written that the _first seal_ will be broken when a _righteous_ man sheds blood in hell. And as he breaks so shall it break'." He quoted, and then shook his head in disgust, "It was supposed to be Dad...but he held on... He was there for 100 years and didn't cave and it only took thirty to-"

"But how...?" Sam chimed in, voice weak and confused. "How do you know?"

"Alistair told me." Dean swallowed hard, "When I...When I tried to break him at the warehouse."

"Demons lie." Sam spat venomously.

Dean had to huff a disheartened laugh at that.

"Castiel confirmed it." He said quietly, finally averting his eyes. "Which... Doesn't mean that angels lie any less…"

"Dean?"

The older Winchester looked at his brother again and startled when Sam reached out and grabbed his elbow weakly.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Sam mustered.

_Seriously?_

Dean closed his eyes and laughed again. Sam had sounded hurt and the funny thing was that Dean understood why, how could he not? Sam must have caught the irony of his question, because he looked back to the floor with a rueful gaze before scrubbing his face and leaning back against the wall.

"I didn't tell you..." Dean whispered, without opening his eyes, "because I was ashamed. I didn't tell you because I wanted to fix it first. I wanted to fix it so badly, Sammy. And Cas... He was giving me a way to end it. He was finding some sort of sense to the thing I had become. To the things I had done... He was saying _follow me and it will had been for a reason_. I just wanted to leave you out of the mess. I wanted to protect you. I _had_ to do it by myself... because it was all my fault."

A minute of silence stretched between the two, heavy, charged, and interrupted only by Sam's uneven breathing. Dean, whose stomach was making all kind of flip-flops after his confession, knotted even tighter at the distressed sound. That was it, Dean thought. That was all he had. He has just confessed he had detonated the end of the world and it was up to Sam to decide whether there was hope for him or not.

Funny, how it always had been Sam's choice.

"It wasn't your fault." Sam finally spoke.

Dean turned to him and found his brother's hazel eyes fixed earnestly on him. Not a single shadow of doubt marred his certainty and his tone had been unwavering. Dean let out the breath he was holding and felt the next intake hitch inside his chest. He hadn't realized how scared he had been of Sam's reaction, how bad he had needed his forgiveness even if he couldn't ask for it. And there Sam was, refusing to blame him in the first place.

"Dean, you didn't know." The younger pressed.

Because if Dean had known... Sam was absolutely sure that Dean wouldn't have broken. He would have taken all they threw at him, maybe not with a smile on his face, maybe not with defiance in his gaze. Maybe with pained grunts, and teary eyes and loud, blood-curling yells but he _would have taken it_.

At least, that was what Sam must think, right? Dean smiled sadly and shook his head.

"Well, neither did _you_." He whispered.

Sam frowned, and his expression shifted as Dean drove his point home. But the older sibling needed Sam to get it once and for all. If Sam had known, he wouldn't have listened to Ruby, but killed the bitch right away. No matter how far gone into the blood haze he was, no matter how far his need of revenge went. Sam had only wanted to save them all, even if it meant damning himself.

"It's not the same." Sam denied.

"You're right," The older nodded, "I was torturing souls for ten years. You...you killed a demon. The one that put me in there, by the way."

"No, you don't get it!" The younger said brokenly.

"That's what I'm trying to tell you, Sam. I really do."

Sam was about to reply to that, he even opened his lips, clearly ready to protest, but he remained silent. His chin trembled and he set his jaw, trying to control the emotions that bubbled inside of him. He run both hands through his dishevelled hair, stalling a few moments at the back of his neck with his head bowed, and then his shoulders sagged a little.

"We good, Sammy?" Dean asked, hesitantly, because it wasn't him who usually asked that kind of question.

The younger gave a soft snort, looking at Dean with such _adoration _in his eyes that Dean was reminded of the day he had returned from Hell, when Sam could only hold him with all his might, at a loss for words. Like that Wednesday, when Dean had stopped dying over and over again on him after finding the trickster. Like every other time they found each other after believing for too long that they had lost their other half. It was obvious that Sam still didn't think he deserved to be let out of the hook that easily, but then, neither did Dean. It was just what they did for each other all the time. As much as they blamed themselves and as much as, at the end of the day, they were guilty or not, the other would always be in their corner.

"Yeah." Sam breathed, "Yeah, we're good."

The world was pretty much fucked up, but Dean smiled. He smiled for real for the first time in months.

"Good." The older replied.

Sam's lips tugged up weakly and then the smile fell and his gaze grew distant.

"God, Dean. I need..." Sam shut his eyes tight and trailed off. Dean kept his eyes on the floor. "C-Can you...Could you give me some water?"

"Sure." Dean nodded immediately. Dean used the wall for support and stood up. A minute later he was back by Sam's side with a glass of water. "Here."

Sam startled a bit, as if he hadn't seen Dean coming back or he had forgotten about the water in the scarce seconds that had passed since he had asked for it. Dean's worry increased when Sam took the glass and his hands trembled so bad he almost couldn't drink from it. He reached out to help him, but Sam shook his head tersely, refusing his help. Dean could only sit back down on his bed, facing Sam and chewing of his own helplessness. After a bit greedy gulps, Sam stilled and pressed the cool glass against his forehead.

"Dammit." He muttered.

Dean didn't say anything, aware of how hard Sam was gripping the glass and how thin the line they were walking was. Sam didn't want water. Sam didn't _need _water_, _because the stupid water wasn't helping with his brother's thirst and nothing would. If Dean had thought he felt frustrated, he couldn't imagine how Sam was possibly feeling.

"Go away." Sam said.

Dean flinched a bit.

"Sam?"

"Go away!" The younger repeated, with a tone full of barely contained rage.

The older threw a wary look at the corner all the fire in Sam's gaze was aimed at and leaned closer to him.

"Sammy..."

"GO AWAY!" His sibling yelled.

The outburst caught Dean by surprise and he wasn't fast enough to stop Sam when he jumped to his feet and threw the glass against the corner with a roar. The momentum passed and Sam swayed dangerously even as the echo of the crash still reverberated in the air.

"Hey hey hey…" Dean reached out for him and grabbed his elbow.

Sam yanked his arm away and tried to launch himself to the emptiness but his legs buckled and he would have ended up on the floor if Dean hadn't recovered and appeared before him to keep him upright.

"No," Sam struggled feverishly, alternatively pulling and pushing at the barrier his brother had become. "Let me go."

Dean steeled himself against his brother's pleas and desperate fight and held him tighter, using his whole body to restrain him.

"It's not real, remember? You said it yourself, it's not real, Sam." Dean whispered into Sam's ear, "Come on...Come, on, man."

It seemed like forever until Sam's delirium subsided and he sagged in his brother's arms. All the strength he had previously used to try and pry himself free was used now to hang onto Dean as if he was his lifeline, the only solid thing amongst chaos. Dean grunted and shifted his own weight to balance them both. He could feel Sam's erratic breathing against his own chest and his pulse run like mad to keep up with it. His little brother was burning up and Dean almost felt overwhelmed by the knowledge that the withdrawal had just started.

"You okay? Is she doing anything now?" Dean questioned

"No, she- she's gone," Sam whimpered, as if it hit him just now and it hurt more than anything else in the world. "Dean?"

"I'm here." Dean soothed, trying hard not to give away the tears clotting in his voice, "Right here."

"Dean...I can't..." Sam shivered in his hold, despite the heat he was radiating, "I- I need... Fuck, I need..."

Dean readjusted his grip again, but Sam was getting heavier as his own legs gave under him.

"You need to sit down." Dean completed for him. Yeah, denial was good. "Come on, help me out here."

Dean pulled away just enough to put Sam's arm over his shoulders and stumble drunkenly with him to his bed, as far away from where Ruby's hallucination had been as possible, just in case she came back.

_Fucking bitch._

It was also enough to see that Sam was pale as a ghost, and his eyes were glazed. When Dean finally managed to get him sitting on the bed, Sam swayed as if he had lost all sense of where was up and where down.

"I'll bring you more water." Dean offered, watching as Sam licked his lips dizzily.

However, Sam captured his wrist right away and with such a tight grip that Dean's bones protested.

"Sam?"

Sam only shook his head, eyes wide and pleading.

_Don't go._

"I don't...n-no water_._" Sam replied, words slightly slurry at the edges. "I just...I-" Sam pursed his lips, struggling to make sense of his jumbled thoughts and the pulsing, contaminated urge that was slowly taking hold. "I just want to sleep." He added wistfully, "Just sleep."

Dean took a deep breath and spared a second to wipe at his eyes roughly, just to make sure. Sleep sounded good, yeah, although it was what was behind of Sam's wish what made his stomach curl, because he recognized it too well. It was the wish to succumb...and never wake up. Sam wasn't going to give up, Dean was sure of it, especially after their conversation of the night before and not while Lucifer was still around. But right now? Sam was too screwed up.

So first things first: take care of Sam, then take care of the world.

"Lie down then." Dean said thickly.

"But...We need to go to Bobby's."

Dean nodded, because even if he'd prefer to deal with Sam alone, he knew it was for the best. Soon it wouldn't be a matter of comforting Sam or coax him to drink some water. Soon it wouldn't be a matter or will or strength. It wouldn't be Sam vs. the blood, because the blood would be frigging flinging him against the walls and Sam would be too out of it to fight it back in any way.

"And we'll go. Just try to get some rest first?"

Sam looked at him solemnly from under long, sweaty bangs for a long while and Dean crouched so that he was at eye level with him.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"You think I'm going to make it?"

Dean felt his insides go cold, and then shatter in millions of pieces.

_At least he dies human!_

"You better," Dean said roughly.

_'Cause if you don't I'll follow right behind_.

It went unsaid, but Sam pursed his lips and looked straight to Dean as if he had heard it loud and clear. Dean brazed himself for Sam's protests on how he should worry more about himself and that he mattered and all the other stuff Sam stubbornly tried to persuade him of in every possible way. However, Sam remained silent and gloomy and Dean felt a diffuse sense of foreboding gripping the pit of his stomach. Finally, the younger spoke, with a voice suddenly clear and incredibly sad.

"I'll be the one to destroy you."

"What?" Dean frowned.

"Eventually, one way or another, I'll be the one to destroy you," Sam repeated. "I know it, Bobby knows it. Hell, Dad _knew_ it. Maybe even Mom..."

"Sam..."

"It's my fate," Sam said firmly. "I get it now. But yours-"

"Sam, there is no such thing as fa-"

"You're going to be a hero. You're going to save the world." Sam gazed into his brother's eyes with such intensity, that it effectively cut Dean off.

Dean sighed and studied his little brother for a couple of seconds. He had said it with such _faith _that part of Dean ached to believe him. But the only truth there was that Sam had to be delirious and that scared Dean to death. As much as he was determined not to let it show, what he secretly feared was that this would be it. There'll be no stopping the end of the world, especially if it depended on him. God or the angels or whoever had to be wrong, he wasn't strong enough. His father would have been. John was unshakable, determined and unbreakable. Not even Hell had won him over in a hundred years.

He should have been the chosen one and not his poor copy of a son.

And yet there was Sam, so sure that he could still fix everything. That had been the worst part of their last year; the feeling of being mistrusted by Sam, who was suddenly faster, stronger and more determined than the goddammed PSTD'd shadow of a hunter that Dean had become. Having his trust back made him warmer, stronger, even capable of doing whatever it took to honour it, because it mattered to him.

It made him feel like a big brother again, just a little bit ragged at the edges. It was what defined him or at least what he treasured most. As long as he could be Sam's hero, even if it was only a little, he would find purpose to anything life threw at him. So if Sam, or _anyone_, had really believed that his little brother would be the end of him, they just hadn't understood anything about him or about his fight, at all.

"We'll see about that," Dean said softly. _Just not tonight._ "Go to sleep, Sam."

The younger held his brother's eyes for a few beats longer, before Dean shoved at Sam's shoulder slightly and he swayed, then resigned himself and let Dean ease him down. Sam immediately curled on his side, keeping his back to where his own bed had been.

_Guess you get to sleep in my bed, after all._

Dean hesitated at the foot of the bed. His body was begging him to take the other bed and catch the couple of hours of sleep left until dawn, while his mind forced him to be practical and start packing so that they could leave at the first ray of morning. His heart however, was telling him to sit with Sam and watch over him. When Sam groaned softly and shivered, Dean's instincts overrode anything else.

_Oh, fuck it. _

The older sibling sat the on bed and shuffled up until his back was against the headboard. Sam, who sensed his change of position, turned slowly to his back, so that his shoulder brushed Dean's hip. His eyes were open and shone in discomfort, but his voice sounded clear, more sober than before.

"Just promise me, Dean."

Dean could feel Sam alive next to him and the immediacy of it was relaxing, so he let his eyes slip shut and pushed his thoughts away, to force his brain to go blank. Yeah, blank was good.

"Promise you what?" Dean asked on autopilot.

"That you'll do what you need to do," Sam said gravely, conveying that he referred both to what had to be done and what Dean _needed _to do, whatever it was, to make peace with himself and what had happened in Hell.

"I will." Dean promised.

"And that you won't let me stand in your way." The younger finished meaningfully, sleep already claiming him.

Dean shook his head, annoyed despite himself that Sam still insisted on forgetting the most important thing Dean had tried to tell him all this time.

"You still don't get it, do you?"

Dean sighed and turned to Sam. His eyes were already closed and his breathing was easing up. Dean ghosted a hand over Sam's head and settled gently over the side of his neck. Sam frowned a bit, but leaned quietly into the cradling touch.

"_My _way is _your _way, Sammy. Either you walk it with me, or we won't walk it at all."

_Apocalypse, Day 2_

**THE END**

* * *


End file.
